


sleep-laden distractions

by benwvatt



Series: light and breezy? yeah, right [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: Maybe their relationship isn’t exactly ‘light and breezy.’ That’s alright, Amy resolves. They can be more of a ‘I thought of you when this happened’ couple, can’t they?





	sleep-laden distractions

“Don’t leave,” Amy murmurs, the morning after her first date with Jake.

Thoughts of yesterday cloud her brain, a mess of glances and grace alike. Each slow-motion moment of their night together plays over in her head like a broken record. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jake replies. He languidly pulls her up from the bed, spinning her with one arm on the way to the kitchen. They twirl for a moment before Amy almost falls, and she releases him solely to keep her balance.

Laughter has never felt so good.

“To think, our steerage jig was better than this,” Amy jokes.

“If you say so.” Jake makes his way to Amy’s kitchen, beige walls bright with sunrays flicking across them. There are houseplants hanging above the sink, adding a pop of orange to Amy’s kitchen.

Amy fills an aged red watering can in the sink, proceeding to water her flowers one by one.

“I forgot them yesterday,” Amy admits. “I got … distracted once we got here, remember?”

Her fingers dangle near a strand of her hair, twisting effortlessly. Amy gently sets the watering can down and puts it in the cabinet under the sink. She tugs Jake to the pantry, flipping the switch and standing on tiptoes to reach her waffle iron.

“Distracted?” Jake asks, lifting an eyebrow. He pulls a stack of paper plates, too high for Amy to reach, from the shelf. “Is that what you call it?”

“Shush. I broke a rule last night; don’t rub it in.” Amy walks out of the pantry and into the light, setting the iron down on her counter. She pulls her hair into a messy bun before plugging the waffle iron in and pulling an index card from the refrigerator.

“If you want breakfast, you’re going to work for it.” Amy announces. She’s wearing a sports bra under her Nakatomi Plaza t-shirt (a Secret Santa gift from Peralta himself), but she’s as professional as can be.

“I didn’t expect anything less.” Maybe it’s the light streaming in through the windows, but Jake’s cheeks redden once he looks up.

By the time Jake and Amy finish mixing all the ingredients together, twenty minutes have passed. Flour is dusted over their clothing, forming mysterious handprints on the seat of Amy’s jeans.

“Thanks, Ames,” Jake says when she hands him a paper towel. “I _would_ help clean up, but I don’t really know where anything is. I don’t come by a lot.”

“Maybe that could change,” Amy replies, looking over at Jake. She crosses her fingers, seated at the kitchen table in hopes he’ll stay.

“Smooth, Santiago. How can I say no to an offer like that?”

Amy grins softly and casually rests her head on one hand. “So, what are we?”

“I don’t really know,” Jake answers in between bites of his breakfast. “Last night was great, really, but I know workplace relationships are tough.”

“We could try keeping it light and breezy,” Amy suggests.

“Light and breezy,” Jake repeats thoughtfully. “Title of your sexta一oh, fuck it, we already did it together.”

“Language,” Amy corrects, before Jake rolls his eyes and reminds her she didn’t mind his language last night.

“In fact, I remember you cursed quite a bit yourself, Santiago,” he remarks. She giggles (what _has_ he done to her?) and offers they retire to the bedroom.

They curse quite a bit more after breakfast, though neither person stops to correct or chide the other.

For the first time in Amy’s years of residence, her neighbors complain of noise.

“You’re the reason I’m uninvited to the Michaelsons’ seasonal party!” Amy protests, sitting up in bed and complaining. She hasn’t noticed yet, but there’s a telltale hickey on her collarbone.

“Wasn’t I worth it?” Jake cocks an eyebrow. “Let me think, what’d you say a couple minutes ago?”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, _that_ wasn’t it.” Jake goes on, looking at the ceiling and pretending to think. “You wanted me to keep going, didn’t you?”

Amy buries her head in the pillows and admits what she knows to be a fact. Jake Peralta’s a good distraction.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, before Amy initiates round two.

* * *

Two weeks after their first date, Amy doesn’t have to worry anymore when she wakes after a night with Jake and he’s not there.

Jake can always be found in the kitchen, wearing yesterday’s clothes and making breakfast for the two of them. One time, he brought her breakfast in bed: her favorite, french toast with powdered sugar and fresh strawberries.

Amy blushed all day when she thought about it afterward. 

Maybe their relationship isn’t exactly ‘light and breezy.’ That’s alright, Amy resolves. They can be more of a ‘I thought of you when this happened’ couple, can’t they? So what if he tells her calculus puns to cheer her up, and she watches Die Hard for him?

They decide to officially date after three weeks, when they spend more time at each other’s apartments than they really should. Jake buys Amy a promise ring pop, watermelon flavor, which she eats in ten minutes. She buys him a copy of the first _Harry Potter_ book, and he texts her as he reads it.

Amy didn’t think she could love him any more, but she finds she’s wrong as soon as Jake flips the book open.

* * *

_[text messages, today]_

**james bond:** im twenty pages in and i want to cry???  
**james bond:** im so emotional  
**james bond:** how many books are in this series?? i must read them all 

**maxi pads:** don’t worry, you can borrow the other six books from me 

**james bond:** there are SIX more books? 

**maxi pads:** please don’t tell me that’s a problem for you :/ 

**james bond:** no, im excited!!  
**james bond:** pls keep recommending me stuff  
**james bond:** you have good taste ;) 

**maxi pads:** title of ur sextape ?  
**maxi pads:** i tried 

* * *

A few months into dating Amy Santiago, Jake realizes she’s changed him. He can’t go a day without talking to her, can’t see a binder or a highlighter without wondering how wide she would smile. One time, he stopped to pet a neighbor’s dog and abstained for Amy’s sake. There are little alterations that make ‘light and breezy’ a lie.

Sometimes, Jake just sits back and thinks about how relationships aren’t as bad as he thought.

He can still remember everything he felt when his father left: the emptiness of seeing his mother collapse into a lonely bed, the realization family photos left a harsh sting in his chest. When his newly-single mother answered all the questions with ‘it’s complicated’, Jake decided love was far too difficult to ever attempt.

Now he’s thirty-something and hopeful again. Amy has done the impossible (she always does, he resolves) and given him something to believe in.

There are no longer butterflies in his stomach when he locks eyes with her. At this point, they’ve settled into a quiet peace Jake just _knows_ he’ll look back upon with nostalgia. It’s a sort of game they play, loving smirks and banter he can’t help but continue. Every little reminder of his relationship with Amy serves to make his day better, he notes.

This elation leaves Jake a soft grin the day he realizes his father didn’t know how to do this.

Roger Peralta couldn’t stay, couldn’t love, couldn’t tell the truth to save his life. Jake still remembers hearing the whine of the U-Haul truck as it stopped outside their house, seeing its orange stripes slow into view. He can still hear his sobs on Gina’s front lawn, as her mother stepped out of the door and ushered the kids in.

They ate brownies in the kitchen, he remembers. Mrs. Linetti drew the curtains to block Jake from seeing the truck drive away. She can’t block out the sound, though, as Roger audibly yells ‘thanks so much, I really need to get out of here’ and the engine shifts into drive.

At seven years old, Jake decided he was the reason his father left. He went to the emergency room the week before Dad moved out 一 he was burning up from a 104° fever. Jake regrets getting sick for years, and repressed everything having to do with healthcare. The dentist and doctor don’t see Jake for much of his adolescent life.

An acidic guilt filled his chest once Dad was gone.

Jake never wants to make anyone else feel like that. He won’t, he knows, and he promises Amy he’ll always be at her side.

At three in the morning on a Saturday, Amy’s chest pressed against Jake’s back as she snores, he wonders why people walk out at all. Her legs tangle further with his. Jake edges closer to her and falls asleep quickly, dreaming _something_ about balloon arches and three-button tuxes.

He can’t exactly tell, but it might be his wedding.

* * *

Jake can’t believe this. It’s his least favorite day ever, Thanksgiving, and he feels the worst he has all year. Staying up for twenty-four hours, combined with an investigation at a pediatrician’s office, lead to one sick Jake Peralta.

He doesn’t have to be a genius to know that.

Amy returns to the bedroom holding a thermometer and a cup of warm honey-lemon tea. Of _course_ she noticed something was up as soon as Jake so much as coughed. If only he were that intuitive, he may have been able to escape the virus before it got ahold of him.

They’re supposed to go to Amy’s parents’ house today for Thanksgiving. Having one sick person is bad enough; if they were both sick, Amy would throw a fit.

“Babe, put this in your mouth,” she says, holding the thermometer at arm’s length. 

“Title of your sex tape,” Jake mutters, coughing and wiping sweat from his forehead. “I can’t even enjoy ‘title of your sex tape’ jokes. I hate being sick!”

“It’ll get better,” Amy muses. “Just wait a few minutes and we’ll see how bad it is.”

He rolls his eyes and counts down the seconds before he can take the thermometer out.

“There, I’m perfectly healthy!” Jake exclaims, waving his arm. “It’s over a hundred, just like it should be.”

“Did we go to the museum of Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit for nothing?” Amy shakes her head at him. “You have a 102° fever, Jake. You’re so hot! You’re not going anywhere, love.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot?” Jake teases.

Amy only glares. “If you weren’t so sick, I’d insult you.”

“Fine, can I at least get some meds? Or new tissues? These ones are the weird kind with lotion in them. They smell strange!”

“Yeah, no problem. We’ll see if you can go to Thanksgiving with my parents.” Amy grabs her keys and heads out the door. “Be right back.”

* * *

“Hey,” Jake croaks from the bed once Amy returns. It’s been twenty minutes and the episode is just ending. “You should probably get someone to write me an obituary.”

He’s curled in the blankets, watching Friends on Netflix and clutching a box of tissues to his chest. “I thought, ‘cause I won’t live to see another Thanksgiving, I might as well spend it with Chandler.”

Amy doesn’t reply, only walking over to feel Jake’s forehead.

“See, Ames, it’s all ‘cause Chandler hates Thanksgiving like me,” he lamely explains.

“I knew that,” Amy retorts. “I was just thinking about how I spent twenty dollars on stuff for someone who’ll die soon.”

Inside the pharmacy bag, Jake finds cough syrup, Ibuprofen, a new box of tissues (bless his girlfriend), and a bear-shaped bottle of honey.

“This stuff is boring!” he whines. “I mean, the tissues are great, but none of this other stuff is good.”

Amy orders Jake back onto the bed, wrapping him in a blanket and pouring a glass of water.

“I don’t care if it’s boring. You’re supposed to get better, not have fun,” Amy retorts. “Just watch TV and don’t complain.”

Jake stops talking and takes his medicine in silence.

“Sorry, sorry,” Amy apologizes, running one hand through her hair. “I’m just stressed about my family. It’s not your fault for being sick.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters. “I know you get tense about the holidays, and I’m not helping.”

Jake pats the pillow next to his. “C’mon, Ames, just watch with me. I’m lonely, and you can’t do anything about dinner tonight! I already met your family at your brother Luis’ birthday party, remember?”

Resigned, Amy sits down and edges a little closer to Jake. “You better not get me sick,” she mumbles.

“Fine, then we better not kiss for a week,” Jake resolves. “Sound good?”

Amy scowls, but she agrees. “You should probably stop talking, too.”

“Rude, Santiago,” Jake pouts.

“You have a sore throat, babe. If you go on vocal rest, you’ll feel much better. Here, I have something that just might do the trick.”

Amy returns a minute later smiling and clutching a miniature whiteboard with far too many Expo markers. (Yes, she _did_ need to buy the rainbow pack. They were on sale.)

Rolling his eyes, Jake loops the board around his neck and writes ‘I want to hug.’

The message changes to ‘I want to die’ once Amy shakes her head.

The most physical contact they get that afternoon is when she checks his temperature by feeling his forehead (“you have warm hands, Ames, didja know that?”). It turns out Jake took pretty powerful flu medication, and he’s not himself for an entire day.

Amy can’t exactly tell, since Jake only communicates by writing, but she thinks he’s having hallucinations.

* * *

_[text messages, today]_

**amy:** Mom, I can’t come to Thanksgiving tonight. Jake is sick, and he could infect someone else at dinner. You know how full the kiddie table is every year. I don’t want to get any of my nieces or nephews sick :( 

* * *

From across the room, Jake writes ‘I hate honey in my tea. It’s rude to make bear-shaped honey bottles.’

“That’s the plot of Bee Movie!” Amy sputters, mentally drained from having these conversations with her sleep-drunk boyfriend. 

‘I told u that u could make pop culture references,’ Jake hurriedly writes. He adds a heart in red Expo marker.

Amy can’t tell if he’s blushing or just feverish.

“Hooray,” Amy weakly chimes. Jake makes a thumbs-up before reaching for his tea.

At this point, he’s half-asleep from marathoning Friends and writing on the whiteboard. The tissue box is almost completely used up. He can’t even stand up without having a dizzy spell, as Amy found when he tried to use the bathroom.

“Sorry, babe,” she says once Jake finishes all of the Thanksgiving episodes on Friends. She’s watched as Rachel messed up the trifle and Monica got locked out of the apartment. Amy really can’t hate the show once Chandler spends the day in a box apologizing to Joey.

Jake starts watching Friends from start to finish, falling asleep after ‘The One with the East German Laundry Detergent’ plays.

He’s wrapped in a comforter, clutching a pillow to his chest and obnoxiously talking in his sleep.

“Amy Santiago? More like Amy Santia-no,” Jake mumbles.

Amy lifts his heavy, sleep-laden chin to remove the whiteboard twisted around his neck. She writes ‘Sorry I can’t kiss you!’ and hangs the board on the doorknob.

It’s exhausting to take care of Jake, but he’s definitely worth it. When she wakes him up for dinner (Ramen noodles), he sleepily reaches for the whiteboard, groping at thin air and whispering, “Love you.”

“Noice. Smort. I love you, too,” Amy jokes.

Ordinarily, she’d knock her shoulder against his, but he looks too tired. Instead, Amy simply leads her sick boyfriend to the kitchen and prepares him some warm tea. The silver spoon _clinks_ against the teacup as she stirs honey in.

No matter what Jake says when he’s sleep-drunk, he can’t live without honey in his tea.

Once he’s seated at the kitchen table, resting his head on one hand, Jake rubs at his eyes in wonder and worry alike. “What time is it?” he manages after clearing his sore throat.

“Seven,” Amy calmly replies, carrying matching bowls of noodles to the dinner table. “Happy Thanksgiving, babe.”

“AM or PM?” Jake shrugs a flannel blanket off of his shoulders and takes a sip of tea. “Thanks for making us something.”

“PM, babe.”

“Oh, right.” Jake pauses, either with hesitation or exhaustion. “Sorry about dinner with your parents. I know you were excited to go.”

“It’s no big deal,” Amy dismisses. “You’re sick, and you need someone around to take care of you. If I happen to be that someone, well, that’s fine for me.”

“Thanks, Ames. D’you mind if we eat in the living room so we can watch TV?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

They watch _Cake Boss_ and eat Ramen together on the couch. Amy fetches the whiteboard from the bedroom, insisting Jake rest his voice. After a giant, silver robot cake is unveiled, Jake falls asleep on Amy’s shoulder.

She nudges him off, taking their bowls to the dishwasher and draping Jake in the comforter.

“Sweet dreams, Peralta.”

It takes half an hour before he starts sleep-talking again. Jake mutters something about balloon arches and three-button tuxes, though Amy can’t pinpoint the occasion he’s referring to.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! if you comment i will love you forever.


End file.
